


before you came ‘round

by plaisirparkway



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: F/M, I would call it......, Nate IS hungry, Sexy Dread, basically they make out BUT!, but N is a good guy so its fine, but there's no biting this time around, mildly smutty, sexy apex predators, swift reminder that vampires are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29890326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaisirparkway/pseuds/plaisirparkway
Summary: Don't you think Nate must get...hungry?
Relationships: Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell, Female Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	before you came ‘round

**Author's Note:**

> I am Jared, 19, so when it came to my attention that N seems to get less blood than the other members of UB, this lead to rampant speculation, some of which was that N must have to have a delicate balance...always. This is an exploration of that control being tested.

_Let me walk you to your car_. 

It’s one of her favorite phrases. Because it also means _let me steal a kiss_ , _let me hold your hand_ , _let me have you for another minute_. 

Leah always says yes. 

Even though the night has been long for every member of Unit Bravo, they still take care of their human the best, remembering that she requires sleep and food. 

“Will you work much longer?” she asks, swinging their joined hands. 

Nate hums. “I imagine I will pull down a couple more texts, but no. Not much longer.” 

They take the rest of the walk in silence, until they reach her battered Old Reliable. “Do I get my goodbye kiss now?”

He strokes her bottom lip with his thumb. “Always _goodnight_. Never goodbye.” 

He’s too romantic—she should hate it, but instead, she _grins_ , grabs him at his open jacket and pulls him down. When they first met, she took his height as a challenge. A personal mission to climb him, to conquer. 

He must want it though. To be claimed. The way he scoops her up, turning toward the car, so that her weight is balanced in against its frame and in the palm of his hand. It’s in the way he lets her kiss and bite, it’s in his frenzy rising to match hers. 

They kiss until he's got her panting and swollen. She bites hard enough to surprise him. When he inhales, sharp and short, the breath is stolen from her mouth. 

She grabs his belt, feels the buckle grow warm in her hand. Closer, closer, she needs him _closer_. His lips, his tongue. _His taste_. Leah changes course, licking him up, a long strip up his neck, teeth bumping dangerously at the apple of his throat. 

Nate makes a noise. A moan, a grumble. The tips of his fingers curl into her hair. He surprises her by tugging her head to the side. His tongue is one hot, wet stroke from her clavicle to her ear, rasping hard like he can lick _through_ her skin. 

There is no controlling the way her hips jerk toward him, begging silently. She makes to pull away, to shrug out of her jacket. The tug at her hair says _no_. Says _stay here_. Says _I’m not done_. She gives him a weak, warbly laugh. 

“Please.” It comes out stuttering. She hooks her legs around the backs of his, feels the way he nestles between her thighs. The hand under her ass and the weight of them both against the car is the only thing that keeps her afloat. Good God, he keeps her afloat. 

Her mouth begs for another kiss, and this one is more fierce. It tastes like some of her favorite memories. It tastes like the words she begs from him, the things that make him duck his head the next day. 

“Touch me, _please_.” She rushes his hand, the one that’s let go of her hair, to stroke down the curve of her body. With impatience, she urges it under her skirt, between her legs. The gentle stroke through the fabric makes her fist her hands in his clothes. The second, when his fingers come away wet, she whimpers. 

He makes another noise, one that sounds pained. Instantly, he draws away from her with a suddenness that leaves her finding her footing, hands braced against the car. 

He’s retreated a couple of feet, a fist as his mouth. The very definition of tension: stiff jaw and spine, eyes pained. But focused on her. So _focused_.

“Nate.” She takes a step toward him and he takes one back, hand held up in front of him. “Nate?”

He considers her, passes his tongue over his teeth. And she stares right back at him, confused and panting and annoyingly unfucked. It takes her a long time to break from her stupor, to hear through the blood pounding in her ears and to think about something other than the needy pulse between her thighs. 

His mouth twitches. Those eyes dart away. They drag back, prickles of heat across her skin, ivy up her limbs. Slowly, he scrubs a hand along the back of his neck. His voice is low, rumbling along begrudgingly. “I should...go.” 

“Nate, I—”

His smile is faint. Only at his mouth. “I was meant to walk you to your car.” He must be able to see the frustration break out on her face, because he drags a hand over his own mouth, hiding a tilted smile. It borders on something else. 

It makes her want to kiss him again. 

“Get in the car,” he says, in an official sort of tone, the kind she’s only ever heard him use with other people. For business. When he doesn’t really expect to be argued with. She glares at him, frostily and he meets her dead-on. If she’s cool, he is ice. 

She slams the door of the hatchback when she’s inside and he crouches to the window. She rolls it down, not quite as angry, but confused and stomach knotted as she finally figures out the rest of the feeling: rejection. 

He does the thing again—tongue over teeth, sucks them a little. “We can talk tomorrow. I suspect you’ll be less displeased with me then.” 

“What—” 

“Tomorrow,” Nate breaks in. “Please.” 

What makes her hesitate is that his eyes look the same as they had after that first kiss—still all intense with want and desire and like her name is going to come out of his lips in any moment. In _that_ voice. 

With a smile more like his real one, he reaches in the car and gives the lock a little tap. All the doors fall into sync, closing up around her, a little fortress on wheels. 

“Roll up the window, if you would,” Nate says. “And wait a few minutes. Until you expect I’d be back at the warehouse.” 

Leah can _feel_ her face split into a cartoonish frown. “Why?”

The moment is brief, but he strokes his fingers over her hair and down her cheek. The errant brush of his touch sparks an undeniable fire. At odds with what he’s said. At odds with the fact that she’s driving _away_ from him instead of crawling into bed at his side. He withdraws, but not before she catches him making and unmaking a fist at his side. 

There’s something of a croak around the edges of his words: “Because I care for you, very much. And I am much faster than this car.” 

She snaps still. Only blinking and breathing. And for one second—less, really—he leans toward her. It’s only a fraction. 

Less, really. 

A hoarse whisper: “Roll up the window.” 

When the pane of glass is between them, she blows him a kiss. It feels silly and incongruous, but she knows she’s made the right call when he pretends to snatch it out of the air with his pinky. 

_Tomorrow_ , he mouths, and then he’s off, at a clip that isn’t fast enough to be vampire speed.

But it’s not human either.   
****

**Author's Note:**

> (this was fun bc the whimper breaks him)


End file.
